


You Are My Sunshine

by wholockhedgehog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:28:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholockhedgehog/pseuds/wholockhedgehog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last person John Watson wanted to see in his life was Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Sunshine

John burst through the door of 221B Baker St. to find Sherlock, his former flat mate, lying motionless on the couch, undoubtedly deep within his process of thought.  
“Turn on the telly.”   
John was trying to sound calm. He wasn’t doing a very good job. Sherlock woke from his thought-induced slumber with a start, and saw the tears beginning to roll down John Watson’s face.  
“What did you say?” asked Sherlock, whose voice was impossibly rough from going days without saying a word. John shouted through his tears,  
“Turn on the damn television Sherlock.”   
He sounded much like a teacher shouting at an unruly pupil, waiting for the correct response. Sherlock began shuffling through piles of documents in a frantic search for the remote. He didn’t like seeing John like this, in a state of panic. What could possibly be causing this? What could be making John Watson, former soldier, current solver of crimes, and forever holder of Sherlock’s heart, cry? When the detective finally found the remote, he stumbled to turn on the dusty, underused television sitting in the corner of his cluttered flat. It soon sparked to life, and the men found that every channel on the television was tuned into the same newscast.   
Sherlock watched in an internalized terror as images of global anarchy took turns playing on the screen. The headline on the bottom of the screen simply read “Solar Flare to Destroy Life on Earth”. Below these large, blue words sat a countdown. To Sherlock’s utter horror, the numbers read 00:00:12:34. Twelve minutes. Twelve minutes until his untimely end. Twelve minutes left to spend with John Watson. He then had a thought that might just rip those precious twelve minutes with the love of his life away. Voice trembling, he asked,  
“Where’s Mary?”  
John hid his tear streaked face in his hands, and tried to get his weak voice loud enough for his friend to hear. He whispered, simply,  
“She took my gun and...”   
He knew he needn’t explain more. He watched as Sherlock’s iron expression began to crack and fall away. A quick sob escaped the shorter man’s lips, and in one quick movement, something extraordinary happened. He found himself enveloped in the arms of his best friend. Both men were trembling as John’s quiet sobs became the only sound within the flat, and for them, the only sound in the world. How had Sherlock missed this news? Had this anarchy been going on for days? It didn’t matter. The only thing that really mattered to him right in that moment was the strong yet broken man in his arms.  
They seemed to spend an eternity this way, wrapped in one another. Both detective and blogger felt their hot tears roll slowly at first, then all at once, down their faces. Soon they had run out of any desire to go on crying. Despite the deafening silence that filled their ears, the best friends remained with each other. When they finally broke away, though only slightly, they discovered that they had been in that position for only four short minutes. Sherlock made a crushing realization. He knew that the countdown couldn’t possibly be entirely accurate. It was only a way to convince the human race that they were, somehow, still in control of something. John read this off of Sherlock’s features and came to the brief conclusion that, now quite literally, any moment could be their last. This information silently passed between them and soon they returned to their shared and strong embrace. Despite the huge and powerful sense of dread, they remained entirely focused on one another.   
In a moment, Sherlock found his lips pressed against John’s. Neither man knew who had exactly initiated this powerful, crushing kiss. It seemed as though it was a spark that flew between them, making them perform this act, an act a long time coming.   
When they had disconnected themselves from each other, a flush took Sherlock’s alabaster complexion and turned his sharp cheeks a shade of dusty pink. John took a step to the left, taking Sherlock with him, then quick step to the right. Despite the utter lack of proper technique, Sherlock soon took these movements to be a form of a lazy waltz. Sherlock then took the lead, being the superior dancer, and he waltzed with John to the tune of the chaos and destruction going on in the world around them. In this moment, however, John Hamish Watson was his world.   
The blogger buried his face in the purple silk of Sherlock’s exquisitely tight shirt and, despite the end of the world, despite his wife’s suicide, despite the counter on the screen’s reading of 00:00:06:56, he laughed. A deep chuckle rumbled from Sherlock’s chest and through the veil of dried tears to the surface. John found himself humming a familiar tune into his friend’s (Lover’s? Soul mate’s? Partner’s?) shoulder.   
Sherlock felt a song being pressed onto his arm. Quickly searching his memories, he found it to be “You Are My Sunshine”, a song he was forced to memorize in the 3rd grade in class. He soon had slowed the pace of their mock-waltz to match the rhythm of the song, and he lost himself in it.  
(00:00:6:12)  
John endeavored to hum the gentle, rolling melody of the song until he reached the end. Fearing the end of this beautiful, final moment, He began again, but this time, slower. The humming was soon replaced by a gentle whisper of the lyrics. Sherlock once again stalled the movement to match John’s whisper, making their dance a beautiful crawl. John occasionally paused to allow a sob to pass through his lips, or to allow himself to brush his tears off on the taller man’s sleeve.  
(00:00:04:51)   
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey.”  
John continued on the second pass of his singing the song as the detective continued to rock them in their quiet dance. There was noise on the streets. Gunshots. The roaring of distant flames. The honking of car horns as people continued to scramble and evade the inevitable apocalypse. This was the orchestra of anarchy. This was the singing of death, and neither John nor Sherlock gave a damn because this was to be their sequence of final moments, and they weren’t going to let it be anything short of wonderful.  
(00:00:03:24)  
When John had finished his third go at the melody, he was stopped from beginning again by a tender kiss. This time, the kiss seemed to come less from a crushing want but rather an honest need. The smooth serenity of the kiss caused both men to forget the world soon to burn around them. In this moment, the usually logical Sherlock wanted nothing more than for there to be a God. A Heaven at which he could enter and be with John Watson for a true eternity.  
(00:00:02:45)  
John broke the kiss, and began to hum the song, then sing it once again into the detective’s damp shirt. Sherlock didn’t like that. He wanted to spend his (real) final second on Earth with his lips pressed up against John’s. It was getting down to the wire, and he knew the timer wasn’t accurate. He silently decided to stop John after he had sung it this final time, and spend the rest of his life after that in a beautiful kiss.  
(00:00:01:13)  
“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away”

(00:00:00:00)


End file.
